Pacific Ocean Blue: Legacy Edition

The other "lost" Beach Boys solo classic-- this one by troubled middle Wilson brother Dennis-- finally gets a re-issue after being out of print almost 20 years.

We're certainly lucky that Brian Wilson got it together to complete the legendary Smile sessions, his long-languishing answer to Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band-- many didn't expect him to reach middle age. With brother Dennis there was also a suspicion he would depart before his time and, sadly in that case, those fears came true. Indeed, all three Wilson brothers suffered the physical and emotional scars left by their abusive father, Murry, and the middle Wilson brother coped by living the fast life of a rebellious drifter. He fell in (albeit briefly) with Charles Manson and ran through many wives and girlfriends. Always overshadowed by brothers Brian and Carl, drummer Dennis fell victim to the common misconception that session player Hal Blaine manned the skins exclusively in the studio at Brian's behest. In actuality, Dennis made sporadic but dramatic contributions during even Brian's creative peak, steering the group towards surfing culture and nurturing rough-hewn musical talents before drowning off the shore of Marina del Ray in 1983 at 39.

By the mid-1970s, with Brian a troubled recluse and Mike Love angling for more creative control, Dennis Wilson entered the studio with his friend and songwriter Gregg Jakobson; in 1977, he released Pacific Ocean Blue-- a raw, bluesy masterpiece of ocean-worshipping psychedelia. The record was always tough to find, but unlike SMiLE it's no "lost" classic: released around the same time as the middling Love You, Brian's attempt at a 70s comeback, Pacific Ocean Blue actually sold about the same as its counterpart, about 300,000 copies. Problem is, the record was out of print for almost 20 years. Despiite positive critical notices, Dennis was once again swept under the rug.

Pacific Ocean Blue, however, is a wonderful study in Beach Boys surfer soul imbued with the expressiveness of Dennis' piano style. It's also a meditation on a complex world, one devoid of the nostalgic innocence preached by the Mike Love-fronted Beach Boys of late, and its remastered, 2xCD Legacy Recordings release-- the first CD release of the album since 1991-- is astoundingly refreshing.

Unlike Brian, who circa SMiLE was tweaking his vocals to sound younger (on "Child Is Father of the Man" Brian sounds more like classic Eno than classic Wilson), Dennis' voice had already deteriorated due to years of hard living and heavy drinking. Seething with emotion, Wilson's croon is plain but pliable, sounding on "What's Wrong" like a grizzled blues or folk singer but stretching to higher registers on "Pacific Ocean Blues". Wilson was in his mid-thirties when he recorded the vocals to "Time", a sorely honest piano-driven ballad about womanizing; nevertheless, he sounds like someone physically and emotionally twenty years his senior, a grizzled old soul reveling in the ephemeral nature of time and, more surprisingly, love.

The second disc is a collection of tracks written during and after Pacific Ocean Blue for Caribou Records with Carli Muñoz. Dennis originally thought that the results of these sessions would become Bambu, his planned follow-up to Pacific Ocean Blue, but his increasing substance abuse problems and Beach Boys obligations kept it from completion. So the tracks that make up the Bambu disc here are by no means meant to comprise the album as it was originally intended. Wilson once called the record "a hundred times better than Pacific Ocean Blue"-- a boast he was never able to back up. At any rate, some of these songs trickled onto late 70s Beach Boys records, and many of them have already been made available on bootlegs throughout the years. Completists might complain that the entire Bambu sessions aren't included, but considering the volumes of recording that Wilson managed in the late 70s, a little bit of editorial discretion here is appreciated.

This second disc doesn't feature a whole lot of continuity, however, shuffling awkwardly from psychedelic soul jams like "Wild Situation" to the towering synthesizer-tinged pop instrumental "Common". The moodiest compositions on the disc are the peaks: "Common", "Are You Real" (which suddenly turns into an outtake from Air's The Virgin Suicides), and the analog synthesizer strains of "Cocktails" hint at new artistic blueprints for Wilson. Closing the disc is "Holy Man", an unfinished composition that Wilson never got a chance to sing over, and here they are filled out by uncannily similar-sounding vocals by Foo Fighters drummer Taylor Hawkins.

Brian Wilson grew obsessed with comparing himself with Paul McCartney; comparing Dennis to his Beatles counterpart makes little sense except in terms of contrast. Whereas Ringo was a consummate professional who adopted a simple-seeming but complex playing style, Dennis Wilson developed his own talents almost entirely on the back of emotion, not technical expertise. His works show the obvious influence of the blues and soul, with Wilson manifestly stating the predicament of his own aimless love and rootless existence. Always an artistic spirit, a slacker with a penchant for surfing, an incurable womanizer, a morbid alcoholic, Dennis Wilson was a player in life's essential boundaries, fated to cross the big one far too soon. Anyone enthralled by Brian Wilson's 30-year journey from the brink should examine Dennis' work as well.